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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27825730">the one with the seeds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/potatobird/pseuds/potatobird'>potatobird</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(of an unspecified variety), A little, Belly Kink, Breast Expansion, Coming Untouched, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/F, Forced Pregnancy, Fpreg, Hugely pregnant, Hyper Pregnancy, Hyperpregnancy, Immobility, Lactation, Magical Pregnancy, Non-Consensual Pregnancy, Non-sexual Impregnation, Outgrowing Clothes, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnancy caused by eating magic seeds, Pregnant with Multiples, Too Pregnant to Move, belly inflation, rapid pregnancy, uhhhh</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:00:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,041</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27825730</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/potatobird/pseuds/potatobird</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A woman eats some seeds and gets a lot more than she bargained for.</p>
<p>for the prompt <i>"Faerie/Faerie Queen impregnates human woman"</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Original Female Character/Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>188</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the one with the seeds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>if you really want a visual reference for The Queen, you can try Hera from "Blood of Zeus", the dress she wears in that is definitely the dress I was picturing the Queen wearing in this one. </p>
<p>not that it matters, as this is ~2000 words of extremely horny garbage.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“How many did you eat?” The Queen asks almost offhandedly. She taps the wicked taloned tip of the nail of her index finger, long and gleaming some kind of irridescent mother-of-pearl, on the arm of her chair. <i>Tik. Tik. Tik.</i> She’s tall—the Faeries are so <i>tall</i>—and <i>elegant</i>, wearing an opaline-hued dress with a neckline that plunges nearly to her bellybutton. </p>
<p>“What?” Jamey’s blood runs cold at the abrupt change in the Queen’s line of questioning. She thought she had this under control. </p>
<p>“How many of the seeds did you eat?” The Queen repeats, simple, not annoyed—yet. </p>
<p>“I-I don’t know.” She really doesn’t, she realizes. She’s just been eating—she was so hungry after the walking, and the getting lost, and wandering into the Faeries’— Either way. The pile never seemed to get any less, and she just kept <i>picking</i> at it. </p>
<p>Like an idiot, it seems. </p>
<p>“That’s fine.” The Queen leans forward, snags the plate, and pulls it over to look at it. “Fifty-three, it would seem.” </p>
<p>“What? But— y-you offered them to me—“ </p>
<p>“Indeed. But in return for what?” She cocks her head. </p>
<p>“Whatever you want— please, just leave my friends out of it—“ </p>
<p>“Your friends are free to go. You, on the other hand, owe us something.” </p>
<p>“W-what?” </p>
<p>“Our seed.”</p><hr/>
<p>“That’s not how that works!” Is Jamey’s response when the Queen explains the trap she’s walked into. </p>
<p>Apparently this was some kind of elaborate ruse to trick (they could have <i>asked</i>, she’s sure <i>someone</i> would've said yes eventually) someone into being a surrogate as they replenish their ranks? And Jamey, having eaten the magic seeds that Do The Deed, has self-selected into that role. </p>
<p>Except <i>that’s not how reproduction works</i>. Clearly, the most reasonable and diplomatic response here. </p>
<p>It’s amazing what a little stubborn refusal to believe can do. For instance, it makes the Queen’s eyes narrow dangerously. She smiles; it’s a wicked smile, and her eyes rest on Jamey for more than a heartbeat for the first time in this entire conversation. Jamey feels her face flushing at that look, the cruel twist of that full mouth. At what it implies. Jamey’s stomach squirms uncomfortably. </p>
<p>If she heard the Queen right, the Queen’s offspring are already planted inside her, growing. Jamey doesn’t have a say in it anymore. That smile promises everything: Morning sickness, discomfort, growing out of her clothes—every inconvenience and humiliation of pregnancy. The Queen looks like she’s already picturing her there. </p>
<p><i>Throw a tantrum if you want,</i> her look seems to say. <i>You’re still going to be waddling around with your belly too big for your clothes regardless.</i></p>
<p>It shouldn’t make her wet. It should <i>not</i> make her wet. </p>
<p>But there’s an electric thrill in her belly, and god help her, but she’s wet and swollen. </p>
<p>“No?” The Queen asks, clearly enjoying whatever she’s about to drop on Jamey. “Isn’t it?” </p>
<p>The Queen snaps her fingers, and Jamey feels immediately how screwed she is. </p>
<p>It <i>aches</i>. </p>
<p>Weeks of soreness and discomfort compress into a matter of minutes, distributed throughout her body but focused in her upper body, especially in her front: Her abdomen, hips, ribs, breasts, the muscles <i>under</i> them. But also, her lower back radiates ache through it, even reaching her sides and down into her ass. Muscles, soft tissue—all of it aches, like she just absolutely shredded a core workout and is going through the entire multi-day recovery period in the span of a few minutes. And she’s <i>tired</i> like she is, too. </p>
<p>The curves of her body feel softer. Her breasts, lit up with a throbbing soreness that goes down to the bone, feel inexplicably full, inexplicably tighter in her bra and her shirt. Her belly feels full, but a quick glance down shows her... nothing out of the ordinary, exactly. Her belly looks fuller, certainly, in her shirt, but not round or hard. Just like she’s had <i>much</i> more to eat than just a few seeds, or maybe she’s put on a couple pounds. Her sides and her ribs feel tight, too—also like she’s full. As she watches on her next inhale, her belly rises with her breath—and expands under her shirt, soft and with her shirt clinging to the slightly changed shape of it. She shifts uncomfortably as the rise of her belly causes the waistband of her jeans to tighten. Even when she breathes out, her waistband barely loosens. </p>
<p>On her next inhale, her belly rises even further—and she feels... something, inside it. A presence, something inside her growing, stirring in her aching core. Growing <i>quickly</i>. </p>
<p>As the Queen watches with a smirk, Jamey’s breasts begin to grow heavy in her bra. They already fill the cups entirely and then some, a soft swell of delicate skin over the top of her bra. They swell even further, now, that ache turning into growth, fullness—her breasts grow too big for her bra as the Queen watches, beginning to push the whole frame of the bra forward, lifting the bottom underwire away from her ribs. The underwire along the back and sides digs into her skin; her breasts keep growing, piled noticeably in the cups, swelling over the top, straining the sides. Pushing the cups down and forward, and her nipples, which feel huge and sensitive, are threatening to slip out of the cup, her breasts have grown so much. Her belly and breasts swell tangibly, tightening her shirt, her pants. Jamey grips the armrests of her chair, bites back a sound that’s equal parts pain and pleasure at the aching fullness of her breasts, their obvious growth, heavy and swollen—</p>
<p>And she caves, reaching around to unsnap her bra before she can’t breathe, or worse, her bra snaps for some reason. As she reaches back, her breasts strain out in front of her even more pronouncedly. When the clasp comes undone, her breasts immediately ache less, and her ribs, too, for that matter—but they’ve far outgrown the confines of the bra now, and even through her shirt, the garment looks like it should belong to someone else, almost comically too small against the heavy, swelling roundness of them. She can’t quite maneuver to get the bra entirely off, though, surreptitiously or otherwise. She manages to get one arm out, sliding the bra to one side, and by then her breasts have grown so much in that time alone that her shirt is straining across them, nipples huge and sensitive and hard and <i>very</i> visible against her shirt. Her shirt grows taut under her arms, across her back. Her breasts swell, taut and round and almost hard, even further out in front of her, under the Queen’s gaze. Weigh down heavily. </p>
<p>Jamey is acutely aware of every part of her upper body that hurts: The tenderness of her belly, the exquisite sensitivity of her breasts. The sensation of something... <i>changing</i> in her hips and lower back, the stirring sensation low in her belly. </p>
<p>All of that is beginning to take a backseat to the feeling of <i>growing</i> in her belly, something almost hard that feels about the size of a fist, or a baseball, inside her. It’s happening so fast her belly is starting to feel a strain, like it’s not quite stretching fast enough for the growing shape inside her—like her muscles resist the new shape her body is growing into, and it’s tiring and leaves her taut as a wire. </p>
<p>She shifts and rocks her hips forward and stretch her back slightly, canting her belly into the air, catching her breath as she aches for her body to make room. Her belly swells, tightening her shirt and her pants again, the latter digging into the tender skin of her navel. She reaches down, her breasts bumping into her arm, and unsnaps the snap on her jeans, letting out a sigh of relief. </p>
<p>Before, she might have worried about the Queen seeing it, but she’s going to be so much bigger before this is over, and... she’s lost. She already knows it. </p>
<p>That relief lasts hardly a moment before her belly swells out even further, pushing on the waistband of her jeans again. The presence inside her is steadily growing. </p>
<p>Her belly swells visibly. Her shirt already sits tight across her belly and breasts from how she’s grown, but she watches her belly rise steadily, expanding bigger and bigger with every breath—beginning to grow round, heavy, to tug at her lower back with the weight of it. Her belly curves, now, unmistakably, and it grows without stopping. She white-knuckles the arms of her seat, straining and panting, belly beginning to heave with her breathing, swelling further and further out in front of her. There’s a growing gap of skin that simply can’t be reached by either Jamey’s shirt or pants anymore, and the shirt is both starting to slide up her increasingly round, full sides, and continuing to stretch tighter and tighter, caught over the swell of her belly. She’s not sure if it’s going to tear or slide up. She’s not sure which would be worse. </p>
<p>The Queen watches her struggle, watches her grow huge with her offspring. Smiling the whole time, like she’s pleased by how big Jamey is getting. </p>
<p>Before long, Jamey’s shirt, which before had been kind of cute, a little fitted, looks comically distorted by how her body has changed: Stretched beyond recovery at her breasts, stretched even bigger over her belly—which is partly exposed, because there’s just not enough shirt to cover her anymore. It looks like it belongs to someone else, now; there’s no way it could have fit on her even weeks ago, let alone <i>minutes</i>. And her pants— </p>
<p>Jamey has pushed the top of her jeans down to where the zipper ends, but it doesn’t matter. Her belly strains at that, now, too. Her sides grow fuller and rounder with each passing second, until her belly starts to spill over the sides of her jeans as well. She’s grown so far out of her clothes that her mostly-bare belly stretches and swells before her hostess’ eyes, the skin tight, trembling and shaking from within as whatever the Queen put there begins to move. No cloth to hide her. </p>
<p>She doesn’t stop growing. Her belly begins to rest on her lap, weighing down under its own fullness. Her sides swell outward, until it’s clear just how pregnant she is from behind. Her breasts sit on top of her belly, huge and hard. Periodically, she rubs her hand over her navel to make sure she can still reach it.</p>
<p>She whimpers, and keeps growing. Until the weight of her belly begins to force her knees apart unless she sits just so. Until it becomes increasingly difficult, and then impossible, to reach her own navel. Until she can’t even move, just sit and feel herself grow and try to breathe. Only then does it stop. </p>
<p>When it seems to have stopped, her belly curves huge out in front of her, to the sides so far it almost fills up the entire space of the chair from arm to arm, and pushes her breasts up almost into her peripheral vision. She’s all breasts and belly now, a huge gravid swell, enormous straining belly, bigger than she thought anyone could ever get. Her breasts fill what’s left of her shirt above it, tight and hard, leaking. </p>
<p>Her cunt throbs and flutters and Jamey realizes she’s hovering on the edge of an orgasm. She doesn’t know how she’s going to come with her body so full, but she knows she’s about to, if anyone so much as blows on her oversensitive skin—</p>
<p>In the end, she owns herself. Her hand slides a few inches over the immense swell of her belly and it sends a feeling through her like nothing she’s ever felt before and she comes, grinding on the chair and coming in front of the Queen, huge with her children without even being fucked. </p>
<p>The Queen smiles wolfishly, and Jamey’s cunt and belly jolt at the pleasure of her satisfaction, her approval, even. The Queen’s offspring move inside Jamey like they can feel that smile, and swell a little more with it.</p>
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